Marisa 10: Operation Copperhead
by Prof. Voodoo
Summary: A hostage situation in Pescara calls for a creative, insane, suicidal, idiotic attack plan.


_This is a fan-fiction. The author does not own the property of the original concept, or any characters from the original._

"This is Alfonso, the last train until morning has cleared the platform. All civilians are departing the station."

"Copy that" replied Elio, "take your position near stairwell, I'm sending her down." He & Marisa stood under a streetlight outside the subway entrance. "That's your cue...head down there, there should be 3 punks, all armed. Deal with the situation using the minimum amount of force, but don't get yourself hurt."

"Why are we doing this, Elio?" complained Mari with a yawn, "This is basic field training. Kid's stuff!"

"Good thing you're a kid" he replied. "This is your first assignment since your injury; we just want to try you out on something easy. This should be a cake-walk for you."

"Alright" she groaned, "but after I'm done can I _please_ go back to sleep?"

"Sure thing," the handler promised, "there'll be plenty of time...we've got a long drive ahead of us, but only if you don't get injured."

Marisa straightened up and delivered an exaggerated salute, "I'll do my best, boss!"

As his cyborg disappeared down the staircase Alboreto joined Jean & Dr. Belisario waiting in the van. "Now that she's gone are you gonna tell me what this crap is _really_ about?" Elio growled.

"Just a routine test," the doctor tried to assure him, "we run all the girls through it, but since Marisa spent her first month at the Dive Training Center we didn't get to do it with her."

"Bullshit" the older man replied sharply, "she's way beyond this point. Don't tell me you're just giving her an easy check-out mission after her injuries either, I already used that lie on her."

Croce answered honestly. "I'm concerned about the level of violence she uses. The other cyborgs don't rip their victims apart."

"I've seen your Rico break every bone in a man's body and smile doing it."

"But only under my orders." Jean replied, "Your cyborg seems to display an alarming capacity for...imagination."

"Well I don't discourage that" answered Elio, "and unless you're getting picky about her laundry bill I don't see a problem with it."

From the back seat, Belisario tried to diffuse the tense situation with humor; "Well, it _does_ cost quite a bit getting all the blood stains out of her clothes..." Neither handler responded to his joke. The two men usually got along alright...at least as well as anyone got along with Jean Croce, but it was very early and they were both grouchy from lack of sleep. To make matters worse, Alboreto had secured the day off, which Jean objected to since the fratello had already been off the active roster for almost 2 weeks; Marisa recuperating from gunshot wounds suffered in Sicily. He'd scheduled this _training exercise_ as a snide way of getting back at Elio.

"Shouldn't something have happened by now?" Belisario finally asked. Both handlers looked at their watches.

"He's right...Marisa has been down there almost 10 minutes" muttered Jean, picking up his hand-held, "Alfonso, report...what's going on down there?"

The support operative's voice crackled over the radio; "She passed almost 10 minutes ago, there's been nothing since then. No gunshots, not even loud noises."

"Hold position" ordered the Field Commander, "we're coming down to check it out." Jean handed his radio to the doctor and instructed "Stay in the van, but keep an eye on the staircase. Alert us if anyone tries to come down." With that the two handlers exited, and crossed the street to the subway entrance.

The pair passed Alfonso, hiding in the shadows, and gave him a silent nod. Walking as quietly as they could, both men drew their pistols, and each chambered a round. Around the corner there were voices...laughing, joking. Jean gave his colleague a nod and crossed the passageway to cover him. Neither man allowed so much as a toe to slip into the light. Finally in position, Alboreto carefully rounded the corner, his Beretta leading the way. To Croce's surprise he lowered it almost immediately, switching on the safety and slipping the weapon back into its under-arm holster. With a roll of his eyes and a grin, Elio beckoned Jean to come see for himself.

Marisa was sitting on a bench surrounded by the 3 subway punks, laughing and listening to their stories. She quickly caught sight of the two handlers, and waved to them. "Mr. Croce, Papa...come meet Sergio, Lamberto and Gazi! They're in a gang called _Il Leoni_!" The 3 subway punks stepped back in alarm upon seeing the 2 men in business suits approach (especially since Jean was slow holstering his weapon). Mari was eager to show off her new friends; "They were telling me all kinds of cool stuff. They all live together in a big apartment, like a club-house, and they get into rumbles with other gangs over stuff like turf! And guess what, they don't like the Padania either!"

"Satisfied?" whispered Elio, shooting Jean a grin, "She knows perfectly well when to use violent force and when not to."

"Fine...I'm satisfied," growled Croce, "for now."

The older man addressed his cyborg, "That sounds like fun, but we have a long drive ahead of us before morning, so we've got to get going."

"Okay" she agreed, "Bye guys, see you around!" And with that, she & Elio left.

Jean was left with the 3 nervous subway hooligans. "S-so, are you, like, her dad or something?" one stammered.

"No" hissed Croce, "that would be the other man."

"That old dude?" replied the one nick-named Gazi, "Yo, we didn't do nothin', we never even touched her, you know?"

"I know...you would not be alive right now if you had" Jean growled before walking out to let them consider that.

**_Falling through Space I_**

"Alright Mari...last chance to change your mind...you sure about this?" shouted Elio, over the roar of the wind.

"I can't wait...let's go!" she yelled back at him.

"First pair, in the door!" ordered the jump-master.

Elio awkwardly crab-walked to the open aircraft door, with his cyborg clipped to his chest. They looked out over the Tuscan countryside 4,600 meters below, and Elio readied for the plunge. "I'll count to three...one..."

Marisa pulled him out the door before he even reached two.

During her convalescence in the Social Welfare Agency hospital cyborg & handler had talked about a great many things. Among the topics they covered was how vexed Mari was to have taken her very first aircraft ride in a Public Safety med-evac helicopter, and not even remember it (her handler would remember that harrowing, blood drenched ride for the rest of his life). Elio had promised her that he'd take her on an airplane ride as soon as she was out of the hospital, but as things often did in Marisa's imagination, the plan ballooned into chartering a plane, and eventually, jumping out of one. Although he hadn't been skydiving in decades Elio was feeling in an indulgent mood, and agreed.

Now the fratello were free falling toward Tuscany at 200 kilometers per hour, Mari's red pig-tails whipping Elio in the goggles as he kept one eye on his wrist altimeter. Even over the roaring wind Alboreto could hear his girl shouting and laughing out loud.

Another parachutist, this one jumping solo, passed them on free fall, but then slowed & leveled out. Elio tagged Marisa on the shoulder, and she turned her head just in time for the man to take their photograph with his helmet mounted camera.

All too soon for Mari, it was time to deploy the chute. Elio signaled her to hang onto her shoulder straps, and pulled the ripcord. After an instant of gut-wrenching deceleration all was silent and peaceful...cyborg and handler drifted lazily under the canopy, gazing down at the countryside below them from a perspective that was impossible to get any other way. "It's beautiful..." she gasped, "I've never seen the world like this."

Elio said nothing, but had to agree with her. Hanging there, suspended only by thin nylon risers, still 700 meters above the earth, unconfined by a noisy airplane or helicopter it was impossible not to feel awestruck. Seeing how enraptured Marisa was only warmed his heart more...she really was allowing him to see life through fresh & un-jaded eyes. "Okay, kiddo, have you had enough of _beautiful_ yet? It's time for the corkscrew."

The girl shrieked with delight as her handler pulled on the control risers to send their chute into a falling spiral, the powerful g-forces crushing them both into their harnesses.

In a few minutes Alboreto made an awkward landing (he'd never done this with a cyborg clipped to his chest) in a grassy field right next to the airstrip from which they'd taken off. "Hold still" he instructed, releasing the 4 double-locked clips that held Marisa to him. As soon as she was free the girl whipped around and shouted "That was incredible!" The other jumpers, all experienced parachutists, laughed as she threw her arms around Elio and tackled him into the grass, tangling them both in the riser cords.

After getting themselves unwrapped (with a lot of help from the other jumpers) Mari asked her question, still practically exploding with excitement, "So how many more times do we get to jump today?"

Elio had only planned to make the one skydive, but his young charge was looking up at him with eyes that could not be refused, trembling in anticipation of his answer. The photographer told them "The plane is going up two more times today." That only heightened Marisa's frenzy.

Alboreto sighed, and with a laugh accepted that he could not refuse her. "Well, help me get the 'chute gathered up...looks like we've got two more jumps today." Her squeal of ecstasy was ear-splitting.

_Now I know what Giuseppe & Michele must feel like all the time..._

**_Filling Empty Space_**

On the drive home it was impossible to get Marisa to stop talking; she recounted every detail of their _4_ jumps. After the supposed last run of the day she'd personally talked the pilot into going up _just one more time_, and Elio's expense account had to absorb the cost of extra fuel. This endeared her to the other skydivers, who got a free jump out of the arrangement. Of course, the day's events were recorded with great ceremony in Mari's _lifetime things to do_ log.

"Eh, Elio, you missed our exit" pointed out the cyborg, once they had reached the A90 beltway surrounding Rome.

"I know, but it's early yet," he told her, "what do you think of some shopping? You & Amelia's room is one of the emptiest in the whole dormitory."

Marisa looked at him skeptically "I really don't spend much time there...it's just a room to sleep in."

"Maybe you'd feel differently if it was more personal" answered her handler.

She seemed self conscious about accepting gifts after all Elio had already done for her, "Today has been so great already...all this must cost a fortune."

"Well, my handler's expense account is kind of like your salary...it's very full and your room is very empty, so maybe new curtains, some framed pictures, and some other decorations are worth looking at."

"My _salary_?" she inquired slyly, "You mean I'm supposed to get paid?"

Elio looked at her and tried to force a little fake gruffness into his voice, but he was in too cheerful a mood. "The morale allowance of the expense account..." he explained, reciting straight from the _Section 2 Handler's Policy Manual_, "...is dispensed at the handler's discretion, with consideration to factors such as, but not limited to; mission performance, progress toward training goals, commitment to academics, plus the cyborg's general attitude & behavior." Marisa shrank in her seat a little, recalling all the times she had fallen short in those areas, but the boss re-assured her with a gentle tussle of her hair, "And from what I've been seeing lately, I am very pleased." That one comment was worth more to Marisa than all the gifts her handler could have bought her that evening.

It was dark by the time they got back at the dormitory, but Marisa had no trouble finding help carrying her new acquisitions inside. A cyborg coming home laden with gifts from her handler was always cause for excitement, and the ones that volunteered to help heft it all inside got _first peek_ at all their sister-cyborg's new stuff. In a wise tactical move from a man who had moved a lot during his lifetime, Elio made sure his girl was well supplied with beverages, candies & roasted nuts...further payment/bribery for those kind enough to offer help. As a result there were no complaints even when 2 heavy writing desks (Elio had considered Amelia too) had to be moved inside and assembled, guided only by cryptic instructions translated from Swedish.

The work of installing new curtains and hanging pictures turned Mari & Amelia's room into the focus of attention that night, with many of the cyborgs dropping by to see the new decorations, and decide what they wanted to beg their own handlers for. "There sure are a lot of neat undersea pictures..." observed one of the newer girls, "...did you get any with dolphins?"

Marisa looked up from assembling her new desk and gave the girl a sour look. "Dolphins..." she muttered, "...are assholes."

Most fascinating to Amelia and her friends was a print of the famous M.C. Escher _Relativity_ lithograph (another Elio idea, he guessed correctly that it would be popular with the heavily conditioned bomb-squad girls). "The staircases...they all go up..." muttered Cora, trying to make sense of the optical puzzle.

"Or down..." replied Bella as the other cyborgs laughed cheerfully at all 4 bomb-squad girls standing rigidly & staring at their new favorite picture.

**_Uninvited Visitor_**

A few days passed normally. Marisa showed off the developed photographs of her skydiving adventure (to _everyone_), inciting many of her action oriented sisters to begin badgering their handlers about _when are __we__ going to do that?_ For the most part though, the days settled back into predictable routine, training, school-work, missions, and idle nights in the dorm. Now that Mari & Amelia's room was a homier & better appointed space it became a more popular choice for evening "tea-parties" and the two girls new electric brewing pot (its sleek, chrome, German design contrasting sharply with Claes' traditional porcelain pot) was seldom idle.

On a day like any other Mari & Elio were just returning from the outdoor range after a frustrating day of sniper practice. Thus far Elio had been called upon to make all the long range shots on their missions together...Marisa was still a below average sniper. Her handler feared that it was the weak conditioning, necessitated by her diving commitment, which handicapped her at long range shooting. It was, after all, a skill that required a clear & calm mind, which Marisa would _never_ have. He kept his mouth shut about that theory though, and continued to provide instruction & encouragement.

"Elio, I'm trying...I really am!" she told him, as the two sat down on the steps of the office building together, "I can focus on the target, and line the crosshairs up just fine, but while I'm waiting I get distracted by everything _around_ the target. I can see every blade of grass moving in the wind, every ant on the ground, I can even hear the other girl's bullets pass through _their _paper targets! When it's time for me to pull the trigger my brain is all muddled up."

"Well, it's something we have to work out on our own" Alboreto told her, "you know the engineers are only going to say you need more conditioning. Next time we'll try some stuff like earplugs, and some Vaseline on the scope lens."

"Vaseline?" she asked, puzzled.

"A smear of petroleum jelly around the scope lens, all but the very center." explained her handler "It might help you focus on the target without the outside distractions."

"But I can't use that in combat" Mari sighed.

"Let's worry about getting bulls-eyes in practice first, then we'll gradually take the training aids away as you get better."

She sighed "I guess" but was obviously disappointed at her lack of progress.

Their conversation was interrupted by Ferro, who came jogging out of the office building with a look of concern on her face. "Mr. A, the Chief is looking for you, we've just been tasked with something big."

"On my way..." he acknowledged, getting up on his feet and following her to Lorenzo's office. When they arrived, Jean was already there.

"I can't waste time on formalities..." began the Section Chief "...this morning at around 0700 there was a terrorist attack at the Palma Reale hotel in Pescara. Some hotel guests & staff members were killed on the spot, but it appears that hostage-taking was the primary objective of the attack. There are 17 captives on the top floor, being held by what appears to be a group of heavily armed amateurs. They're isolated up there, with a garrison of 24 terrorists on the next floor down. Worst part for us is that one of the prisoners appears to be the Prime Minister's 18 year old nephew."

"Does the Prime Minister know this yet?" asked Ferro

"No" replied Lorenzo, "Minister Petris is keeping the information from him. In our favor, it appears that our genius hostage takers don't know who they have either. We need a plan to take out the hostiles and rescue the civilians, and we need it fast."

"This is a very public job, and it does not involve our primary mission," muttered Jean, going through photos of the high-rise tourist hotel, "this is a job for GIS commandos."

"I agree sir," ventured Ferro, "if any of our cyborgs are seen in action it will be very hard to cover up."

Lorenzo gave a heavy sight and slipped his eyeglasses off. "GIS attacked at 0945 this morning, and got their noses bloodied. They attempted to approach the roof, but lost a helicopter to a Stinger missile. There were fatalities."

"Jesus" growled Croce, tossing the photos down, "how the hell are we supposed to storm a high rise if we can't go up the stairs and we can't drop down on the roof?" He rubbed his forehead and asked "What about snipers? Can we kill the bastards on the roof?"

"GIS looked into that...the Palma Reale is the tallest building in the area, and they've set up a crude barrier all around the top to block our sight." sighed Lorenzo, "There is no clear shot."

"Grenades or mortar shells on the roof?" suggested Alboreto, "We can't use any heavy explosives, but fire-bombs or stun grenades could knock out the stinger teams long enough to get a chopper in. Mancini's cyborg is trained to operate a mortar."

"Chief Lorenzo, sir" chimed in an unexpected voice, "I have a suggestion."

"Marisa? What the hell do you think you're doing here?" demanded Elio, who had not noticed her follow him into the meeting.

Mari slipped around him and went straight to the Chief's desk. "Elio and I can drop down on the roof with a parachute. The drop aircraft never has to get within missile range, and I can take out the rooftop Stinger teams on the way down."

"Marisa, that's enough!" scolded her handler, "This is not a meeting for cyborgs, and you know better."

Lorenzo was more patient; he explained the flaw in her plan. "Marisa, the moment you start firing they'll see you floating down in the chute and kill you both."

"They'll be dead before Elio even pulls the rip-cord!" she retorted, "We'll do a low opening drop and I can take my shots while we're still in free-fall. Once Elio & I secure the roof and the top floor a strike team can rush both staircases and eliminate the garrison one floor below!"

"Out...now!" ordered Elio, grabbing his cyborg by the back of her collar and pulling her to the door, "Go straight to the dorm and wait for me...no, on second thought, sit your arse on that bench in the hall and wait!"

With a shove & a slam of the door, Elio evicted his student. "I'm sorry about that, I had no idea she'd followed me in here."

"Don't worry about it" replied Lorenzo, "she was only trying to help."

"With the most ridiculous plan I've ever heard." Alboreto growled, "Anyway, she knows better than to go sneaking into private meetings where she has no business being."

The Chief stood up and said "Now is as good a time as any to take a break. I have to call the Minister of Defense...privately. Shall we meet back here in a few minutes?" All 3 of his subordinates nodded, and cleared out of the boss' office.

Elio walked out into the hall to find his cyborg sitting on the bench as he had ordered, a somber look on her face letting him know she was well aware of how badly she'd screwed up. "Care to explain what you were thinking?" he growled, trying hard to keep his temper under control.

"I'm sorry...when I heard we were tasked with something big I...I just wanted to see what it was all about." she explained.

That did not satisfy her handler. "Are cyborgs _ever_ allowed into mission planning?" She said nothing, just sitting there wringing her hands nervously. Elio barked "Answer me, Marisa!"

"No sir." she replied quickly. "But I just know my plan can work and save those people!"

Alboreto had to bite back the string of expletives that he desperately wanted to let loose. "It's not your job to concoct our attack strategies, that comes with experience, which you do not have. Stop and think about what your _plan_ entails. We're going to jump out of an airplane, you're going to deploy long range fire at human targets, _from above_, which means you will need to score head shots on every target...all while free-falling at 200kph. Tell me, Marisa, are you _that_ good a sniper?"

That hurt...Elio could see it in her eyes, and a tremble in her bottom lip. Again she did not answer, but this time he did not force her. Instead he continued; "Assuming you do hit all your targets, I now have to deploy the parachute and land us on the roof of a 35 story hotel...in high winds. I promise you I am not that good a skydiver!" The chastened cyborg finally looked as if she understood, so her handler returned to his primary point; "This is why we adults make the plan, and you execute the plan. Maybe someday you will have the experience to contribute to mission planning, but that day is not today, understand?"

"Yes sir" she muttered dejectedly.

"Alright...I need to go back in there, stay right here and wait for me...we'll probably be deploying within the hour."

Alboreto re-entered the Chief's office to find Jean & Ferro already there, going over ways to get a ground attack squad in. "There's an access tunnel coming from the neighboring hotel, which is still under construction" pointed out Ferro, "the 2 stairwell rushing teams can move in without being seen."

"Has anyone called up Avise about getting the mortar ready?" asked Elio.

"Eh, yes, we've spoken to him, he's supervising the chopper load-out" replied Jean, "but we're going to use Agapita with Rico as our sniper team."

Elio's bushy grey eyebrows rose. "I thought snipers didn't have a line of sight to the rooftop. How are they going to take out the Stinger teams?"

"Oh, we're going to go with your parachute idea for that" replied Lorenzo, "I've got Pagani headed for DaVinci airport right now to rent an appropriate plane...and a 'chute for you."

"Cut the crap Pieri, this is no time for jokes" growled Elio softly, so that only his old friend could hear.

"It's no joke" replied the Chief, "I spoke to the engineers, and they see no reason why Marisa can't pull off the shots. The Minister of Defense likes the idea too...she asked me to tell you, _be careful_."

Alboreto felt his head spinning, and sat down in one of the heavy wooden chairs in front of Lorenzo's desk. "Are you fucking serious? The best plan we can come up with to rescue the Prime Minister's nephew and 16 other civilians was dreamed up by a bat-shit crazy 11-year old? Have you considered that she is not even a good sniper?"

Jean kept his cool, and replied "It's not really a shot that requires a sniper. She can spray that whole roof-top with fire if she needs to."

"Okay, what about me?" pressed Elio, his eyes wide, looking every bit like a crazy person, "What makes you think I'm good enough to land us on the roof of a goddamn 35 story building? I haven't seen any action like this in 30 fucking years!"

"You just did 4 practice jumps a few weeks ago, didn't you?" reminded Ferro, "Marisa showed me the pictures."

"We did a handful of sport jumps...that's all!" snapped Elio.

"But...you charged the aircraft fuel to your handler's expense account" pointed out Croce, "I assumed it was for training."

"No, that came from the morale allowance and you know it!" snapped Alboreto, "That was the same day you ran Mari through that stupid subway exercise, I _told_ you we were going skydiving afterward."

The others looked at each other awkwardly, Lorenzo spoke first. "Eh, Elio old mate...we've already got the ball rolling on this plan...Minister Petris has given the order to deploy...we all think it can work."

"So I guess there's nothing left to talk about." Alboreto sighed, slumping in his chair dejectedly, "I'll go get my cyborg ready..."

Elio slowly exited Lorenzo's office, and looked down the hallway. Marisa had been up looking at paintings on the wall, but when she caught a glimpse of her hander she quickly dashed back to the bench where she had been ordered to stay seated. Silently, Elio walked to that bench and sat down beside her.

The cyborg was puzzled by her master's demeanor. "Aren't you gonna yell at me some more?" she asked.

"No...not now." he muttered.

Still unsure if she was in trouble or not, Marisa suggested "Maybe I should apologize to Chief Lorenzo for interrupting his meeting."

"Actually," sighed Alboreto, "I owe you an apology. The Chief likes your skydiving attack...so does the Minister of Defense. So go get changed...and get your Kel-Tec ready. Mr. Pagani is renting an airplane for us to jump from...we'll meet him at the airport as soon as we can be ready."

Inwardly, Marisa was thrilled, but jumping up and down and celebrating did not seem at all appropriate at the moment. "Yes sir" she replied, "I'll be ready before you know it!" With that she dashed off, almost knocking over Priscilla and her handful of intel reports.

"Mr. A!" called out the analyst, "just who I was looking for. We've received new intel from Public Safety..." she handed him one of the report copies she carried "...we know who is behind the hostage situation."

**_Ringleader_**

Hubert Janssen sat in his lavish room at the Alden Hotel Splügenschloss in Zurich, anxiously scanning the television channels for news of his operation, and waiting for any one of his 3 mobile telephones to ring. It was now 1:30 pm, 6 and a half hours since the attack, and 45 minutes since he issued his ransom demands to the Italian government. 20 million euros would make him a rich man...free to retire from a life of mind-numbing tax fraud...free from the 24-hour a day demands of his mafia & terrorist clients.

For years Hubert had slaved for violent fools, saving them a million euros here or there just to see them waste it away on more guns and more bombs. There was no profit in terrorism, just a bottomless hole that sucked down the whole cake leaving Hubert lucky to grab hold of a few miserable crumbs. The mafia made a little more sense; at least they made a profit. He was good at what he did, but barely cleared 200,000 € a year, like some pathetic wage slave. Maybe that life was good enough for his father...an honest but humble accountant, but it did not sate the lavish appetites of Hubert Janssen.

Still, working with criminals had its advantages. It put Janssen in touch with the right people, men who could execute the plan he had been working on for 5 years now. The kind of men that were vicious enough to take hostages and kill anyone who got in their way...but were dumb enough to let him slip out of the country with _all_ the money.

It was the blue Nokia phone that rang first. Hubert snatched it up franticly, but then calmed himself. _Mustn't sound too eager._ On the 4th ring he answered it. "What is it?"

"This is Beta team leader...it's been 6 and a half goddamn hours...have the government bastards responded to your demands yet?"

"Relax" said Hubert, softly, "everything is proceeding according to plan. We'll have the money by nightfall."

"Easy for you to say. We got attacked by the GIS this morning." growled the voice on the end of the line.

"Is that my problem?" snapped Janssen, trying to sound tough. Despite the fact that his cohort was 700 kilometers away, and had never seen his face, the overweight Belgian was chilled by his savage tones. "It's your responsibility to handle the hostages and any ill-advised rescue plans. I will make sure we get our money...unless you think you could do a better job of that?"

The bluff worked. "No, no, we'll stick to the plan...it's just that we had to fire one of the Stingers." replied the leader of _Beta team_. "That's 40,000 € right off the top. Some of the guys are getting nervous here...we _borrowed_ these weapons from some serious dudes...real Padania heavies."

"What do you care?" snapped Janssen, "We've got 20 million coming. Once you get your share of that _you'll_ be the serious dudes...nobody will fuck with you, but _everybody_ will want to hire you."

"Okay...just call us as soon as the Italian government responds."

"I'll call you when I'm damn ready!" Hubert told him, "Now don't call me unless something important happens!" He hit the button, pleased with how intimidating he sounded.

_The fucking idiots still have no idea I'm going to leave them high & dry up there_. Once the Italians had transferred the ransom into his Swiss account Hubert planned to give his attack team one last call, then throw all 3 cell phones into the River Limmat, and escape to the Bahamas with a new identity. After a while the fools in the hotel would realize they'd been screwed, and kill the hostages. Then the Italians would kill them...and there would be no witnesses who could finger him.

Janssen made one addition to his plan. Before tossing the cell phones he would make one last call, to his father back in Belgium, who had wasted his life trying to teach Hubert the value of making a living by honesty and hard work. He would _laugh_ at the old bastard.

**_7 Fratelli_**

6 cyborgs and their handlers blasted across the Italian peninsula as fast as Giuseppe could push the aging AB212 Huey. Avise sat beside him, carefully keeping his hands away from the controls while humming Wagner to himself. The doors were shut for streamlining, which made things a bit stuffy inside the chopper, but much quieter. Rico & Henrietta chattered about nonsense unrelated to the mission...for them it was just another day at the office. Kara was reading a fashion magazine with Agapita looking over her shoulder, pointing to the outfits she liked, happy to slack off a bit safely clear of Avise's disapproving gaze. Behind dark sunglasses both Petrushka & Alessandro were bopping their heads to the song on her mp3 player. Only Triela was focused, and she was in a foul mood.

"Why are we doing this?" she complained to Hillshire, "We're attacking a hotel in broad daylight. There is _way_ too much risk of public exposure on this mission! And Mr. Alboreto's part of the plan is positively insane! What's going on, are we letting _Marisa_ write the attack plans now?"

"Now you're just being silly, I'm sure it's not like that." Her handler looked up from the mission plan he was reading. "Are you feeling okay?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" she snapped. Hillshire said nothing out loud, but silently mouthed the word; _period?_ The senior cyborg flushed pink and quickly looked out the window, answering his question. Poor Triela was frozen at the worst possible age for such things. Her haphazard cycles had as unpredictable an effect on their missions as any act of Padania terrorism.

Victor guided her back to the topic of the mission; "Have you got a better plan?"

"Let GIS handle it" she retorted sharply.

"Have you read the mission plan at all?" snapped Jean, "They already tried!"

That got Triela's attention, but Hillshire tried to wave Croce off...stop him from explaining. It didn't work, Jean continued; "They attempted to access the roof by helicopter but were hit by a Stinger missile. They pilot managed an emergency landing, but they suffered 2 fatalities."

"Who?" exclaimed the blonde girl, jumping up but getting held back by her seat-belts. All the color that embarrassment had brought to her cheeks rushed away...she was now white as a sheet.

"It was Major Sales unit" Jean told her, still oblivious to how much this was distressing his top cyborg.

Hillshire tried to calm her, but it was already too late. "The Major was not in either 'copter...he's okay."

By now the other cyborgs had stopped what they were doing. Triela was getting very upset, and demanded answers "Hillshire, please! I trained with those men, they're my friends! Who was killed today?"

"Not now" Victor finally told her, "I'll let you know at the end of the mission, but right now you have to focus. I need you at the top of your game." He leaned across to Triela, and took her hands in his "Please stay focused...do it for them, and me." She nodded...she would do anything for _him_. Convinced that his cyborg was fit for the mission Hillshire turned to look at Jean, who was reading over his reports as if nothing had happened. "Why the hell did you do that?" growled the German, but he could see no emotion through the Field Commander's sunglasses.

* * *

"Damn it, this thing handles like a truck" complained Michele Pagani, yawing the tail of the worn out BeechCraft Turbo King Air rental plane around, trying to get a feel for it before handing the yoke over to Claes. "Remind me to take you for a ride in my P.180 when all this is over...the Avanti is a _dream_ compared to this crate."

Elio was more practical. "I'm sure, but I don't relish the idea of jumping out the door_ in front_ of the props, so let's stick with this crate for now, alright?" Pagani laughed at that.

Alboreto went back to check on his cyborg, and found her donning a ballistic torso protector. "Where did you get that?" he inquired.

"Amelia was in the room while I was getting dressed. When I told her about the mission she said I should wear a helmet and some body armor, and offered me her light bomb-squad gear. The helmet didn't fit, but this torso protector is almost the right size...a little big but it's better than nothing."

Elio liked the idea of her having protection, but the question had to be asked, "Will it interfere with your rifle?"

"No...it's built to be used for shooting." replied Marisa, "I tried it in the dorm...my Kel-Tec fits just fine."

He continued to run through her checklist while he donned the parachute harness. "Good job...what about spare magazines?"

"I have 4, plus 2 for my Beretta, but I won't be able to re-load during free-fall."

"Once we hit the roof there's 6 more hostiles downstairs with the hostages." Elio reminded her, "The stairwell teams can't isolate the garrison on the floor below until we secure the hostages. Timing is going to be critical."

"I'm ready Sir!" chirped the red-head.

Pagani finally came back to check on them. "25 minutes to the drop zone." he reported, "Jean has his 3 teams in place, standing by for us."

"Who is flying the plane?" inquired the old spy.

"Claes has it under control" Michele assured him, "we've got calm air, no storms, all she has to do is hold her steady and follow the compass." Elio did not seem convinced. "Hey, Marisa, why don't you go see what Claes is up to," suggested Pagani, "don't touch _anything_."

Once she had gone forward to the cockpit Michele sat down on the bench next to Alboreto. "Is she ready for this?" he asked.

"Sure..." muttered Elio, "...in fact she's looking forward to it."

"And you?"

The grey-haired man took a deep breath and replied "Let us take stock for a moment. I haven't done a combat drop in 30 years, and then it was only in training, and _never_ tandem. I'll have an 11 year old murder machine clipped to my chest, firing an assault rifle at targets I won't even be able to see until it's too late. Assuming we don't get killed in free fall I need to deploy the chute, land on top of a 35 story building in high winds, and _hope_ Marisa has already killed the guys who want to kill us. Only then do we get to raid the hotel and kill 6 more terrorists...or all 30 if Jean's teams don't get to their marks on time. Right at this moment we're flying into airspace guarded by Stinger missiles and you inform me that a 13 year old is at the controls. Have I left anything out?"

"I don't know what _you're_ worried about," joked Pagani, "you're already wearing the only parachute. Besides, we'll be dropping you from 18,000ft...a Stinger can't reach above 12,000."

"You know," sighed the older man, "I thought that someday I would reach a point in my life where I would not have to do this lunatic shite anymore. I'm 55 years old, Michele, what the hell happened to my peaceful retirement of bartending, motorcycle touring and SCUBA diving?"

"How do you think Vic Hillshire & I feel?" laughed Michele, "We were the oldest handlers in the agency until _you_ joined...we both thought we could start slowing down and handing the crazy stuff off to the younger guys. Then you showed up...now Jean & Lorenzo are gonna expect at least 15 more years of this crap from both of us!"

* * *

Hubert Janssen's 2nd phone, a silver Motorola, rang. "It's about time!" he snapped.

"Mr. Belvoir, there is no need for hostility" replied Monica Petris, "we are all working toward the same goal after all."

With his confidence at an all time high, Hubert retained his obnoxious tone. Inside, he could barely believe he was actually speaking with the Italian Minister of Defense. "I don't care what your goals are, my goal is to be paid...when is my money going to show up in my account?"

"These things take time, Mr. Belvoir, we can not just pay the ransom out of some general fund...this incident is being covered up from the media, we need time to cover our tracks."

_Time to get serious_. "Time? You have 5 minutes to deliver or I tell my associates to start killing hostages, starting with _you-know-who_! Do you think you can cover up a bullet in the head of the Prime Minister's nephew?"

"Mr. Belvoir...you win." sighed Petris, "But we need at least 15 minutes just to complete the wire transfer!"

There was a silence on the line, and Janssen finally replied "You have 10" before hanging up.

Monica had been keeping the Chief of Special Operations Section 2 on her other line the whole time, listening in on speaker phone. "Did you hear that Lorenzo? Roll on Operation Copperhead...we only have 10 minutes."

"We only need 5" replied Lorenzo.

**_Falling through Space II_**

Michele's satellite phone rang. The BeechCraft was circling over the drop zone now, so he did not take his hands off the control yoke. He nodded to Claes, who answered the phone. "It's Chief Lorenzo," reported the raven-haired girl, "operation is a go!"

"Elio, Marisa!" yelled out Pagani, over the roar of the wind, "In the door…go, go, go, and good luck!"

"Say hi to the others for us when you get down there!" shouted his co-pilot, as the jump team disappeared out into blue sky. Once they were clear Claes clipped on a safety harness and went aft to close the door. It was all a great deal quieter now. "We're secure, Michele."

"Setting a course for home," he replied "...how do you feel about sashimi tonight?"

Elio pitched forward into a head-first dive for the first two and a half kilometers of free fall, tucking his arms back for maximum streamlining. Marisa did her part, patiently keeping her rifle tucked against her chest until Elio gave the signal to attack. Through scratched goggles Alboreto could barely see the rooftop he had to hit...it was still a speck at this altitude, but a speck that was growing by the second.

_9,000 feet!_ Elio flattened his body to slow their dive. That was the cue Mari had been waiting for...she whipped her Kel-Tec in to firing position, and waited for the right instant. They wobbled drunkenly, Elio struggling to provide the shooter clipped to his chest with the most stable platform he could. At 2,000 feet she let loose a hail of 7.62mm fire on the rooftop, but Elio still could not tell if she'd hit anything. Mari was firing fast, but still on semi-automatic mode, she emptied her magazine quickly. He had only a few seconds to get the chute deployed, and at 600ft above the roof, he yanked the ripcord.

"_Shit! Too low!_" raced though his mind as the rooftop continued to get closer at an alarming rate. It seemed impossible that the parachute could slow them down in time..._so this is how I go out...mashed into a rooftop in Italy!_ But Elio was wrong; the chute filled, and almost instantly the world was silent again. Now there was the landing to deal with.

Alboreto pulled at the control risers as hard as he could as the rooftop rushed to meet them. There was little time to worry about whether men with machine guns would be waiting to riddle he & Mari both with bullets..._concentrate on one deadly challenge at a time old man_. They landed hard, rolling over and getting wrapped in the riser cords. Before he could unfasten the 4 clips restraining his cyborg a gust of wind caught the canopy and dragged them both across the gravel rooftop. _Get Marisa free first_ he ordered himself, _she's the one who's going to complete this mission_. Ignoring everything else Alboreto finally managed to get his girl unhooked, and she was off like a bullet, just as ordered.

Free of the extra encumbrance of a squirming cyborg Elio got himself untangled rapidly, and drew his Beretta. "I'll be damned" muttered the old spy. Marisa had done it...6 corpses lay on the roof, all with gaping bullet-wounds in their skulls. They'd never even pulled their missiles out of the cases.

There was little time to contemplate Marisa's unlikely achievement. She was already gone, down the staircase to the floor where 17 hostages were being held. Alboreto got to his feet and charged in after her.

**_Leprotto & Friends_**

Triela, Kara, Henrietta & Petrushka waited in a service stairwell on the ground floor. On cue they would break into 2 teams...Triela & Petra would charge up the west staircase...Kara & 'Etta would take the east. Alessandro had expressed some concern about the make-up of the teams. Neither Kara nor Henrietta had their handler readily available (Michele was piloting the drop aircraft, and Giuse was waiting nearby with the AB212 to provide rooftop evac when the job was complete), if something happened to either girl the partner might not be able to cope without her master present. Jean dismissed his concerns, simply replying "They'll do their job. If one of them gets hit Alboreto will be up there to deal with it."

Hillshire & Rissi had escorted the girls to their staging point, but the 2 men would be unable to keep up with the 4 cyborgs during their all out sprint up 35 flights of stairs. Triela was still in a somber mood so Hillshire suggested she swap with Rico or Agapita on the 3rd team, but his cyborg had dismissed the idea in her normal petulant manner.

Jean's voice over the radio broke the tense silence. "Pagani reports drop team has left the aircraft...rushing teams, move out now!" The girls needed no further orders. Like race horses released from the gate they exploded out of the central staircase, split up and charged up their assigned ends of the building.

Kara's artificial muscles burned as she bounded up the steps two at a time, but she could still barely keep up with the frenetic Henrietta, whose short legs moved so fast they were almost a blur. 5th floor...15th floor...25th floor...the cyborgs did not tire...this was what they were built for; to exceed the limitations of normal humans.

* * *

Flush with a smug feeling of accomplishment Hubert Janssen flipped through the pages of his hotel's gift-shop catalog. "_Mustn't forget to pick up a new Cartier watch before I leave Switzerland_" he reminded himself, "_In just a few minutes I'll have the money for a whole suitcase full._" He looked at the wall clock...the Italians had burned 6 of their 10 minutes, and he had not yet gotten a call from the bank on his 3rd cell phone.

"_It might be time to make an example of someone..._" he growled.

* * *

The sounds of gunfire, and screaming hostages urged Elio on, as he rushed down off the roof into the penthouse floor. A nightmare vision crossed his mind, that Marisa had gone out of control because of all the excitement, and killed hostages. His fears were unfounded though. Reaching the base of the service stairs, and bursting into the enormous room he found his young charge standing over 5 dead terrorists.

"Report Mari, what's our status!" he ordered.

Her voice was nervous and agitated; "5 hostiles down, 17 hostages secure in the two bedrooms...but sir, I can't find the last terrorist, there's supposed to be 6!"

"Did you check the bathrooms?" Just as those words left his lips a door to his left flew open. The old spy did not wait an instant, dropping down and swinging his Beretta up into a defensive position.

Marisa wheeled around with her Kel-Tec, but it was the handler who fired first, plastering the ceiling with bone & brain fragments. The 6th terrorist fell clutching an Uzi which he'd never even gotten the chance to fire.

"Check the hostages again" ordered Alboreto, grabbing his radio, "Top floor & hostages are secure! Repeat, hostages secure...rushing teams attack!"

In the twin stairwells one floor down the message came across loud and clear "..._attack!_" Triela & Petra to the west, and to the east Kara & Henrietta kicked the doors open and let loose on the 34th floor hallway. A few of the terrorist garrison fell right away, but most were able to scramble to safety in one of the 6 luxury rooms on that level. Rather than chase them, the 4 cyborgs adopted a defensive position & hunkered down in the staircases.

Triela keyed her radio; "This is rushing team W...stairwell secure, request fire support!"

"Rushing team E confirms...stairwells secure, let them have it!" Kara called out.

* * *

In the vacant hotel next door (still under construction), Jean & Avise watched Elio drift down on the roof. They both experienced a tense moment and sharp inhalation of breath when a strong gust of wind caught the parachute and dragged their older colleague dangerously close to the edge, but in a few moments it drifted away and floated down to the sea, indicating that both Elio & his cyborg had gotten free.

Aware that their part in the operation was only seconds away, Mancini tapped his cyborg on the shoulder. From the shooters mat where she lay prone, Agapita held up her right hand...Avise held it and for a few seconds the fratello muttered something so silently that Rico could not make out what they were saying, even with her cyborg ears. She could see their lips moving in perfect sync, and at the end they released and crossed their respective fingers across their chests in a solemn fashion that Rico did not understand. _I'll ask Triela about it later_ thought the blonde girl, _she knows about lots of stuff_.

"_...request fire support!_" crackled a voice over Jean's hand-held radio, followed by "_Rushing team E confirms...stairwells secure, let them have it!_"

"That's it girls," said Mancini, "weapons free!"

Agapita & Rico each flipped their safeties off and unleashed a hellish barrage of .50 caliber fire from their Barrett M82A1 sniper rifles. Knowing their friends were safe in the stairwells and on the floor above, the two considered anything that moved a target & blasted indiscriminately whenever nothing appeared in their crosshairs. As soon as each of the cyborgs could empty a 10 round magazine their handler was ready with a re-load, so that the deadly fire never ceased for more than a few seconds.

Across the 400 meter gap to the Hotel Palma Reale, the 4 cyborgs of the rushing team stayed down and covered their ears from the explosive noise & cascade of debris Rico & Agapita were kicking up. Fascinated, they watched as men were blown straight through sheetrock walls, and the whole 34th floor was clouded in a chaotic miasma of concrete chunks, glass shards, insulation fragments and human blood spray. Each bullet strike shook the building around them, evoking images of violent sea battles from the days of wooden navies...indeed each .50 caliber round probably carried with it energy equivalent to a reasonably sized cannonball. The thundering impacts certainly _sounded_ like cannonballs striking.

"Enough..." Jean finally declared, once each sniper had expended 5 full magazines, "...hold fire, lock down weapons."

Agapita looked over at her partner and whispered, "That was so_ cool_!" Rico expressed her agreement with a giggle and a broad grin.

Ignoring their conversation, Croce lifted his binoculars to his eyes and called out "All teams, report" over his hand-held.

"Rushing team E, secure"

"Rushing team W, secure."

"Drop team & hostages, secure."

"Alright" ordered the Field Commander, "Rushing teams clear your floor...use extreme caution."

Carefully, the Triela/Petrushka team exited their stairwell and kicked each room open...the blonde girl dispatching any moaning survivors with her bayonet. From the east side Kara & Henrietta did the same; Kara providing a few merciful ends employing a mind-numbingly expensive Wakizashi blade which she was _expressly_ forbidden from bringing out on missions (as Michele was flying the drop aircraft on this job, she had little worry of getting caught). Soon, they all met in the middle.

"Rushing teams have made contact, 34th floor is clear" reported Triela over her radio.

"Proceed to the top floor and report to Mr. Alboreto...good work."

* * *

14 minutes had passed since his conversation with the Italian Defense Minister. Hubert angrily paced his hotel room and finally decided to call the bank himself. _Those lazy Swiss idiots have probably just forgotten to call me_.

"USB Zurich, Ms. Kroschel's desk, how may we assist you today?" answered a polite voice.

Janssen was in no mood to return her courtesy. "This is Mr. Jens Maastersen, account number 80893642200079. I'm expecting a deposit this afternoon, has it been made yet?"

"I understand, Mr. Maastersen, if you would please repeat your account number I would be happy to check for you."

He replied with irritation, "8-0-8-9-3-6-4-2-2-0-0-0-7-9."

"And for security purposes may I have your mother's maiden name?"

Hubert almost screwed that one up. During this job he had used no less than 7 hastily concocted aliases, each one with full documentation and a family history. He had to scramble for his notebook before answering "Blumenthal...Herta Blumenthal."

There was a painful few seconds of waiting, but the banker finally replied "I'm afraid there has been no activity on your account today. Would you like to recheck the account number?" Hubert just hung up. _These Italians are fucking with me...they think they can jerk me around. Well, now somebody is going to die._ He picked up his blue Nokia phone and dialed Beta team at the hotel.

* * *

Flush with success, 3 cyborgs practically bounced up to the penthouse, followed by a morose Triela. Elio reached for his pistol when he heard their chattering and footsteps on the stairs, but Marisa never showed any concern...she could recognize the noise of her fellow cyborgs a mile away.

"How did it go?" chirped Kara. Her partner Henrietta was already talking to Giuse on the radio, telling him about every detail of her experience.

"Excellent!" replied Mari, "I got 11 kills and Elio wasted the last one for me. That's his brains over there on the ceiling!" She pointed to a blood splatter that looked like a Jackson Pollock masterpiece and asked "How about your end?"

"Total annihilation!" laughed Petra, "I wish you could have seen it...Rico & Agie _thrashed_ that place with .50 cals! So do we get to release the hostages now?"

"Elio says no...he says we can't allow them to see us, plus something about them being from Stockholm or something, I didn't understand it all." said Mari with a shrug of her shoulders "GIS & Carabinieri will be up to take the credit as soon as we're gone."

"Figures" sighed Petrushka. "I wonder what Mr. Alboreto has against Swedish people?"

Elio noticed Triela not taking part in the conversation. The Senior Cyborg walked sullenly around the room, poking a few dead bodies with her bayonet before sitting down in a chair filled with bullet-holes, away from the others. "Hey," he asked, leaning down to look her over, "are you alright? Did you get hit?" He brushed aside Triela's bangs to get a look at her eyes.

"I'm fine...not a scratch" she muttered, pulling back from him a little.

"Oh yeah," he growled, "then what's wrong? Operation was a success...hostages are safe...you did a great job...what's up your arse?"

She didn't feel like talking about it, but Triela answered anyway. "The two GIS men who were killed today were men I knew...friends."

All of a sudden Alboreto felt like an insensitive jackass for being so gruff with her moments ago. _Way to put your foot in your mouth, old man._ Like all the SWA staff, Elio sometimes allowed himself to forget that the mighty Triela was still just a young girl, sensitive and vulnerable to feelings he had ground down decades ago (and sometimes came out when the booze flowed). He tried his best to say something...anything. "I'm sorry, Triela...if it's any consolation at all, you saw their mission through with honor...men like that would have gone proudly knowing that, especially since it was a _friend_ who picked up the flag and completed their work."

She looked up at him and asked, "Mr. Alboreto, do you ever feel like you want to cry...but the tears just won't come?" He stood there puzzled, struggling for an answer that would make the girl feel better.

The cyborgs bailed him out; "We do" replied Kara. Alboreto then witnessed something he would remember for the rest of his life. She dropped down on her knees, and put her arms around Triela, touching their foreheads tenderly. Henrietta, Petrushka, and Marisa all joined in, holding onto each other in a tight huddle with Triela in the center. Together, they grieved with their sister.

Hillshire & Rissi arrived, huffing & puffing from their climb up 35 flights of stairs, in time to experience the bittersweet scene. They were both silent, and when Jean's voice broke over the radio to inform them that the chopper would soon be there to pick them all up, Victor turned down the volume and acknowledged with a muted voice.

The 3 men allowed the cyborgs their minute, but the thump of approaching rotor blades brought an end to their commune. "Sounds like Giuse is here..." observed Triela, wiping away one of the tears which finally _had_ come, but not even Henrietta moved until Triela herself stood up and collected her shotgun.

The ring of a cell phone interrupted them. Curiously, Marisa & Henrietta looked over the dead bodies until Mari eventually found a blue Nokia ringing in the pocket of one. She wiped the blood off with her sleeve and handed it to Elio.

"Hello?"

"Damn it, it took you long enough!" snapped an angry voice, "The Italian government is not taking us seriously...they've failed to pay the ransom on time. Show them we're serious...shoot one hostage in the head and throw him off the roof!" He was yelling loud enough that even those without cyborg ears could hear him from across the room.

"Really?" laughed Elio. He looked to Triela and said "It's for you..."

The blonde girl wore a puzzled look on her face, but accepted the telephone. There was still an angry sounding man yelling on the other end, "Who the hell is this! This is not Beta Leader...put Beta Leader on the phone! Oh screw it..._you're_ Beta Leader now...just kill one of the hostages!"

"Eh, I don't think so" replied Triela.

Hubert Janssen was shocked, this was a young woman's voice..._there are no women on my team!_ "Who the hell are you?"

Triela's voice fell into an angry, chilling growl; "The men you murdered for _money_ used to call me _Leprotto_, and that's all I feel like telling you. It doesn't matter much, because you're going to _die_ in the next 15 minutes anyway."

"What..." he cried out, but Triela terminated the call.

Her handler nodded in approval, "Nicely done."

"Mr. Hillshire..." she asked "...can I know their names now?"

He sighed, but a promise was a promise, and she had earned the truth. "Corporals Peiracci & Aniceto. I'm very sorry Triela."

The girl nodded, and sighed, "Alfredo & Jezzo." She paused for a long time before saying "chopper's here...let's go home."

While Triela had been on the line, Elio had made a call on his own satellite phone. "Yes, this is Alboreto...objective secure, the mission shifts to you now, mate...oh sure, all the cyborgs are safe, no hostages lost either...we have no reason to want him alive, so go ahead and take him out."

**_The 8****th**** Fratello_**

It didn't take long for Hubert to realize that his operation had been compromised. _What the hell went wrong? Those incompetents fucked it all up...that's what!_ He knew he was in trouble; nowhere in his planning had he accounted for possible failure, an oversight that seemed obvious only now, when it was too late.

Frantic, the overweight Belgian collected his papers, all 3 cell phones, and anything in the room that could connect him to the crime, jammed them into his overloaded valise and fled the room. He'd have to go into hiding...not only would the Italian government be after him, but those Stinger missiles had been procured on credit from dangerous Padania militants...savage men who would not hesitate to feed Hubert to the pigs while he was still screaming.

_What the hell am I going to do?_ his mind raced, _All my money was tied up in that plan...I've got less than €100_ _to my name...I can't even pay my damn hotel bill now!_

Janssen exited the elevator in a panic, and went straight for the front door, trying not to look as if he was hurrying. "Herr Janssen!" called out the hotel desk clerk, "A message for you...a Gentleman is looking..." but Hubert did not wait around to hear the whole message, he burst though the lobby doors and onto the street. _Are they onto me already?_ Sweat pouring off his pudgy face; he tried to blend into the crowd. _I can go back to Belgium...to my father's house. I can't stay there, they'll find me, but I can get money, and a car from him!_

The side streets seemed safer, so Hubert hurried to where he hoped he could not be seen. It was then that he noticed the "Gentleman" who was obviously seeking him. A lanky man in a stylish jacket but no tie, he wore a dark pair of Ray-Ban Wayfarer sunglasses and was obviously not hiding the fact that he was following Janssen. The Belgian had no desire to meet this gentleman, so he ducked down an alley and tried to lose him, dropping his valise so that all the papers spilled out. Panicked, he abandoned them and broke into a full run until he rounded a corner and felt an incredible pain, the likes of which he had never felt before.

Writhing around in agony, clutching his shattered knee, Hubert looked up to see not a hulking police officer, or a vicious Padania hit-man, but a young girl...holding a cricket bat. He wondered if he was hallucinating from the pain, she definitely_ looked_ improbable enough. Very slim, maybe 14 years old...certainly no older than 16...with short brown hair and an outfit that looked like what a modern girl would _think_ people wore in the 1960's.

"Yep" muttered the lanky man in English, holding a photograph at arms length, never taking his right hand out of his pocket, "that's our blighter."

"Hope so, Guv'nor" she chuckled, "otherwise he might feel a touch cross about the job I've done to his knee."

"Right then Monty...there's going to be two Carabinieri funerals back in Italy because of this fat bastard, so there's no need for the old _quick & painless_." The man turned and added, "I'm game for a coffee...fancy one?"

"_Bloody_ hot out for that...I'd rather have a cold gin." answered Monty hopefully.

"Bit early in the day for that, Miss..." Jethro warned, "I'll get you something iced."

Monty looked down at Hubert Janssen like a new toy. "Just you and me now..." she teased. The girl picked up a dirty rag from the alley, jammed it in his mouth and taped it over with a bit of duct tape. She did not say another word, going straight to work on him with the cricket bat, smashing his joints piece by piece, fingers & toes...wrists & ankles...elbows & knees...and so on. Despite his own torment & muffled screams Hubert Janssen formed 2 final, coherent thoughts. He knew that he was going to die, that was a certainty...and he wished he could make just one last phone call to his father in Belgium, to tell the old man he'd been right all along, and that his greedy fool of a son _finally_ understood.

**_Mission Report_**

2 days after the mission Elio met his cyborg in the dining hall for lunch. He'd spent the entire morning helping a Public Safety official (a pretty, but incredibly _boring_ young woman) sort out which costs of the operation belonged to the Italian Government, which would be covered by insurance, and what was left over for the hotel to take on the chin. Marisa, for her part, had spent the first part of her day in Mr. Hillshire's French class (she conveniently _forgot_ to tell her handler about the less than stellar grade she'd received on her homework essay).

"How is Triela?" asked Elio, as he finished his clam chowder. Someone had declared it _American Day_ in the cafeteria, so the buffet line was filled with the Italian cooks' confused guesses at what American food was supposed to look like. At least it was better than _Lithuanian Day_.

"Better" replied Mari (who had gone with the safe choice, a hamburger), "Mr. Hillshire took her out to dinner the night of the mission, and they talked about it...and Mr. Mancini & Agapita brought her to the chapel for a special remembrance mass or something. She's back to her old, bossy self today."

"That's good to hear" commented Elio.

Marisa gave a nod of agreement, and added "Claes tells me she sulked for way longer than this back during the whole Pinocchio thing...but I wasn't around to see _that_."

Alboreto reached into his pocket and produced a few sheets of paper, stapled together & folded once, lengthwise. "I almost forgot...this is a photocopy of the final mission report. I figured you might want to keep it as a souvenir, since you were the one who originated the plan."

"Operation _Copperhead_?" she read, clutching the report in both hands.

"It was the Chief's idea" he said with a grin, "a copperhead is a snake indigenous to North America, a member of the pit viper family. Mr. Lorenzo thought it was an appropriate name for _your_ mission, for obvious reasons." As he said that Elio reached out and flicked one of her rusty-red pigtails with his finger, just in case it _wasn't_ obvious.

Marisa returned his grin, and said "Copperhead would be a great code-name too..."

"What do you need a _code-name_ for?" he groaned.

"Ya never know..." replied the cyborg, crunching into a pickle, "it could come in handy."

Elio shook his head and gave an exasperated laugh, "Okay. Now keep that report in your room, but don't wave it around too much. I see no reason why you _can't_ have it...cyborgs are encouraged to read the mission reports after all...but the higher ups might not be too fond of you keeping your own copies. Keep it wherever you hide your secret contraband stash."

The girl's face paled. "Secret s-stash?" she asked him, stammering a bit, "I d-don't have one of those."

He laughed; "Don't treat me like I'm dumb Mari, I lived in the barracks once myself." Elio ripped a piece of bread from the loaf on the table, and added gravely, pointing his finger for emphasis "Just because I know doesn't mean you can do _whatever_...No liquor...No drugs...and No 2 piece bathing suits!"

"Right Boss!" she chirped with a smile. Marisa looked again at the report in her hands and asked "Sooooo, if this operation was considered a big success, does that mean I get to participate in more mission planning?"

"I wish there was a more emphatic way to tell you _hell __no_" grumbled Elio.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Just as well...I've got a ton of homework to do already."

Finishing her lunch, Marisa stood up and said "I'm dying to find out what a _Key Lime Pie_ is...you want a piece too?"

"No thanks, I think this dodgy chowder has given me enough indigestion to last me the rest of the day" the old spy replied, thumping his breast-bone with a turned-in fist, trying to force a burp. "You know...since the op..._your_ op, went so well you have every right to expect some sort of reward. Do you have anything in mind?"

Marisa paused on her way to acquire a piece of pie, and thought for a few moments. "Maybe not a _thing_, exactly...you already bought me so many things I'm still getting used to them...but I'd like to go do something. How do you feel about white-water kayaking?"

"Oh jeeze," groaned Elio, burying his face in his palm, "it begins again..."

**END**


End file.
